She catches you before the day has any grip on you — hair loose, sheets still warm, the kind of light that makes everything feel unhurried and close.

Her eyes find yours through the screen with that particular morning look: soft but aware, like she's been awake just long enough to decide exactly what she wants.

There's something quietly electric about the way she holds herself — no performance, just presence. The curve of her shoulder, the half-smile. Morning has never asked so little of you while offering this much.